


Tales of Atlantis: New Salem

by KD writes (KDHeart), xyzmary2001



Series: Tales of Atlantis [9]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, Minor Character Death, Religious Fanaticism, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, assholes will be assholes, epidemic, misoginism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22309396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KDHeart/pseuds/KD%20writes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xyzmary2001/pseuds/xyzmary2001
Summary: What a great time to find out that the asshole gene was alive and well across galaxies
Relationships: John Sheppard/Original Female Character(s), Rodney McKay/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Tales of Atlantis [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/105398
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

The past week had been demanding on every member of the expedition, relocating the survivors of P3X - G24 taking up more time and resources than expected, made all the more necessary by the crippling winter that had settled over their planet. At first, it had seemed quite easy to find a new home for the handful of people that had made it through the attack. The possibility of housing them on-base had been the first suggestion, but they had refused it outright, insisting that they needed the stability of firm land and the freedom it offered now more than ever. Of the seven communities they had approached to house them, none accepted, for fear of disease and repercussions. Though the medical personnel had done their best to clear any shadow of a doubt that the twenty people were in the best of health, there was no way of guaranteeing there wouldn’t be another devastating attack on whoever accepted to take them in. Eventually, the Athosians offered their hospitality, helping them build a farm on the mainland. From the looks of it, it had been a mutually beneficial decision, both people working together to improve their farming and finding more in common than they had initially thought.

“Teyla, I hear your people took in the survivors without any incidents,” John said, translating for Ronon, who was trying to talk with half a chicken stuffed in his mouth.

It was past lunchtime, but John’s team had barely made it to the mess hall after a grueling debriefing in Elizabeth’s office. By all appearances, Ronon was trying to make up for losing both dinner and breakfast, while Rodney looked like he had never had a meal in his lifetime. Only one of them was right, but it sure felt the same for the other.

Despite his appetite, Ronon was unusually talkative, and John was stuck as his interpreter. It was a wonder how he managed to make sense of the muffled sounds and put them into words. So far, he had gone on and on about the chef’s culinary prowess, the advantages of fresh meat versus frozen, popular music (though that might have been a mistranslation) and the body-swap incident (which John refused to translate altogether and was having a hard time figuring out why he would even bring that up).

“They are good people, but I believe they are still in shock after their ordeal,” Teyla said with a smile, delicately cutting at her salad. “I would be more worried about Dr. Spencer.”

Ronon, between two bites, managed to mumble something along the lines of “I wouldn’t,” which John found distinguishable enough not to repeat.

Rodney, who had been transfixed over his plate for the entire meal, suddenly grew attentive. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he cleared his throat. “I heard she was busy.” There was a slight tremble of hesitation in his voice.

“You _heard_?” John repeated.

He hadn’t seen her since they were given the all-clear a week ago. Not that he had avoided her, not really, but he needed time to reflect on his own feelings and wanted to give her space to do the same.

“Why?” Rodney asked, missing the point entirely. “Has anything happened?”

“Weren’t you two going out?” John asked, hoping that what Ronon had just mumbled wasn’t too far off from what he wanted to ask. He ignored Ronon’s look that suggested otherwise.

“I guess we were...” Rodney trailed off, turning his gaze back to the last pieces of roast on his plate. “Oh! You thought I visited her in the lab!” he said, finally getting it. He slumped a little in his chair and stabbed his fork in the meat. “Did you think I’m suicidal?”

“She has been in there for the last five days,” Teyla pointed out.

“Exactly! You have _no_ idea how she gets when she’s working!”

“She can’t be worse than you!” John said, earning another disapproving look from Ronon, whose mumbles had again been intentionally mistranslated.

“I talked to the nurse that’s bringing her food and coffee, and I understand she sometimes forgets to eat. I wonder if we shouldn’t bring this up with Dr. Weir,” Teyla said, eyeing Rodney.

“Don’t look at me! I’m assisting Hermiod with the repairs to the Daedalus hyperdrive. We must get it up and running by tomorrow morning, and we’re nowhere near completion,” he said, the edge in his voice pretty damn hard to miss.

“I’ll check in on her,” John offered, with the air of a man who was taking one for the team.

During their time in the Infirmary he had noticed there was something off with Catherine, but personal feelings aside, he wasn’t exactly the first who was supposed to come running to her side now, was he?

Ronon grunted, happy there was no way anyone could have taken John’s offer as a translation.

“I forget to eat all the time,” Rodney assured them. “When I’m working,” he added when he noticed their incredulous looks. “She’ll be fine.”

o0o0o

John intended to see Catherine right after lunch, but he kept getting distracted. First, it was Lorne with a problem in the Jumpers’ Bay, then Elizabeth, with intel from another planet where the virus might have cropped up, then sparing with Ronon and a short trip to the Infirmary - that was the last time he worked as a translator! - then Rodney with something about the sensors... It was evening by the time he finally found himself in front of her lab, wondering if it had been a good idea in the first place.

He was debating if he should knock first or not when the door opened, and Catherine nearly walked into him. She seemed rather worried and, when she raised her head to face him, her eyes were heavy with exhaustion. “I was just...” she mumbled, gesturing vaguely.

It wasn’t so long ago since he had last seen her, but the changes were visible. She didn’t look too bad - not particularly - just lost. She looked paler and thinner somehow, her tired eyes standing out more than usual.

“I wanted to check on you earlier, but I wasn’t sure if you’d appreciate it.” He bit his lower lip, feeling like an idiot for excusing himself. “Rumor has it, you don’t bite unless interrupted from your work,” he joked.

Her tired gaze seemed to brighten just a little, and she wrapped her arms around him in a silent embrace. “You _should_ know better than that. You’re the only one I bit… recently,” she teased, her voice muffled in his shoulder.

What was she thinking, reminding him of their kiss?

He stared at the top of her head for a second, before wrapping his own arms around her, pulling her closer.

Catherine raised her face and smiled at him. “Thank you, John,”

She was so beautiful, despite the oversized scrubs and the dark circles under her eyes. And the way she was looking at him, the way she held him, tilting her head just a little to the side… John needed all of his willpower not to lean down and kiss her until she couldn’t pretend she felt nothing for him. He could almost feel her lips against his, hear her gasping when he...

His loins tightened to the point of pain as he realized all he had to do was lower his hand a few inches to have her breast in his palm.

A few _tiny_ inches.

She closed her eyes, her lips so close he could feel the warmth of her breath against his mouth, as his hand slid slowly down her arm, his thumb tracking achingly close to the swell of her breast, not quite touching it.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. He needed her - needed to feel her naked beneath him, needed to taste her skin with his tongue, needed to lose himself inside her...

Whoa! What he needed was to get a grip of himself before he did something idiotic, like kissing her on a public hallway, where everybody could see them. And he was a breath away from doing it. A breath away from breaking Rodney’s trust. Again.

His heart pounding, John let go of her and took a step back.

It took him a few seconds to clear his head enough to focus on something else than her lips. He took a deep breath and looked away.

Behind her, the lab looked like it had been used by a whole team of medics, not just one person, and there was a tray of food, still untouched, on the counter. It looked like Teyla hadn’t been wrong about Catherine skipping her meals.

He awkwardly cleared his throat. “Listen, I’ll go grab some food. Want to join me?” he found himself asking, sure she’d say no.

Once more, she surprised him. “You go ahead, I just need to check on some samples and lock the door, and I’ll be right with you.”

He watched her go back into the lab, unaware he was smiling while doing so, then headed for the mess hall humming.

o0o0o

Catherine took a deep breath and walked back to her lab.

What was it that she wanted to do? Where was she going before he came up? She couldn’t remember a thing except for the feel of his arms around her.

Damn it!

It had been enough for him to show up at her door and poof! All of her wits went out of the window. The more she told herself he wasn’t the man for her, the more her body craved him.

She took a tube in her hand and put it back just as fast. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t work, couldn’t sit still.

She was an idiot for thinking about him. For wanting him. For… well, everything.

A hopeless, incurable idiot. That’s what she was.

Catherine huffed, almost rolling her eyes.

She had nearly begged to be kissed earlier. And for a moment she thought that he would. The blatant desire in his eyes made her shiver in anticipation, and just when she was sure that he’d kiss her... he pulled away.

Why?

And why was she so disappointed? He had done the right thing, the one thing she seemed incapable of doing lately. He stayed away. Wasn’t that what she wanted from him? From herself?

Now, how awkward would it be if he guessed she was mooning over him like a lovesick teenager? Like everyone else, actually.

At least he had invited her to dinner. It had been the most unromantic proposal she could think of, but that was all the more reason for her to go.

She was starving, indeed.

o0o0o

By the time he entered the mess hall, John was convinced Catherine wasn’t going to turn up. She had probably locked herself in the lab and returned to her work. It was perhaps for the best... for him. He was going to ask Teyla to check in on her later, make sure she at least ate something for the day.

Somehow, he felt disappointed, but it was his mistake to think she was going to come. What was he thinking asking her to dinner, anyway? He had more chances of getting Elizabeth to go to a football match.

Studying the beer in his hand, he went through a list of all the stupid mistakes he’d done over the past few months.

Spied on Rodney while he was on a date. Check.

Envied him for being her boyfriend. Check.

Almost had sex with her. Check.

Kissed his friend’s girl. Check.

Asked her to dinner. Check.

Okay, trying to get some food into her didn’t feel particularly wrong, but he still felt like he was taking advantage of the situation and guilty for it, although he wasn’t and shouldn’t have.

Though, judging by how things were going, he probably would.

And that wasn’t even the worst thing.

The worst thing was that he had fallen for her, damn it.

He didn’t hear her walk up next to him. She tapped him on the shoulder, and he nearly jumped. “Haven’t you decided what to get yet?” Catherine asked him, her tray already full.

“I wanted to finish this first,” he said, holding up his beer.

He watched her from the corner of his eye as she sat down at the table, wondering what was different about her. She still wore the same clothes, had the same tired look in her eyes, and was definitely not wearing any makeup. But there was something...

“So, how are the survivors? I didn’t get to check on them after they left Atlantis,” she asked, fixing him with those big, blue eyes that were the first thing he noticed about her when they first saw each other.

“They’ve been taken in by the Athosians, on the mainland,” he said noncommittally. “Teyla has been of great help, welcoming them among her people.”

Catherine nodded and looked away from her plate. There was something wild in her eyes, a haggard, haunted look, in contrast with her usual frailty.

“I’ve heard Rodney hasn’t seen you in a while,” he said, changing the subject. “He was even starting to feel a bit forgotten.”

“Well, I was starting to feel a bit forgotten, myself,” she commented, the corner of her lips lifting in a small smile.

“I think he feared for his life.”

“Then how come you showed up?”

He gave her a sheepish grin. “Everyone already thinks I’m a bit suicidal,” he joked.

“So, you do have a death wish, huh?” She threw a crumpled paper napkin at his head.

The teasing in her voice made him relax against his will and, before he knew it, he was trying to make her smile some more.

“Well, some days I face Wraith, others, a cranky McKay, and others, you,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“Really now? And which would you say is the scariest?” she asked gingerly.

His face turned serious, and he straightened up, but his eyes still held a hint of his smile. “You, hands down.”

She burst out laughing, nearly spilling her drink. It looked good on her, the color was beginning to return to her cheeks, and she looked more alive than she had been in ages. It sharply reminded him of the cheerful, fun woman Catherine was when they met.

“How about Rodney?” she asked when she eventually subdued her laughter.

“What? You haven’t seen him on a bad day yet?” he asked in carefully timed bewilderment. “Not even the Wraith would want him!”

She covered her mouth with her hand in theatrical shock. “Don’t tell me even the Wraith started a John Sheppard fan club!”

It was his turn to nearly spill his drink, but not from laughter. After the initial shock, he joined in the joke. “Of course they did. I know quite a few Queens that can’t get enough of this perfect body.”

“And I thought they were only after your mind. You can’t argue with taste, especially that of a seven-foot-tall humanoid insect.”

John raised his drink to that. “Nothing truer.”

“Now, tell me... Don’t be shy...” she said, inching toward him as if she wanted to share a secret. “How much truth is there behind the story about you and that Wraith Queen?” she asked, winking.

He looked puzzled. “What Queen?”

“The one in the story. Well... stories. You can’t have smoke without fire - or dozens of angst stories in which a young Wraith Queen has her way with you.”

This time, he spluttered his drink. How on Earth did their discussion end up there? When did they veer from talking about her and her boyfriend and took a turn into... the strange and dangerous dark areas of their intranet? He found his composure, eventually.

“By that logic, the two of us should have our very own pay-per-view adult show,” he said innocently. “The things some of them describe us do... I’m actually a bit jealous of my fictional self,” he added wistfully.

Catherine watched him in stunned silence, turning beat-red and very self-conscious. “What do you mean?” she asked apprehensively.

“Well, I can’t complain about my... equipment, but the upgrades those girls have given me? Wow!” he said. “Not to mention the Casanova charm. Even _you_ would give in to that one!”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” she said, the usual bite missing from her voice.

Giving her a sly look, he decided he wasn’t going to let her off that easy. Wraith Queen? Really? She sure knew how to spoil a man’s appetite. “Not me. My girl, actually. Sheppard’s Girl. You should really check out her stuff. Much better than the Wraith ones, and they’re all _lemons_!”

Catherine choked. “Your girl, huh?” she muttered.

“I have to say I’m quite proud of her,” he egged her on. “Even if she does start from a rather far-fetched idea.”

Catherine looked like she was treading on very thin ice, avoiding his eyes. If there had been any doubt about the identity of “his” girl, he had just eliminated it.

Eventually, curiosity seemed to outweigh prudence, and she asked, “What far-fetched idea?”

He smirked. “Well, to think that you-”

Just at that moment, as in so many before, he was interrupted by Elizabeth’s voice through the radio. “Sheppard?”

“What is it, Elizabeth?” he asked in a more congenial tone.

“There have been new reports of the virus.”

“I’m on my way,” he replied, one step behind Catherine, who had already stepped out the door.

As she tied her hair back into her characteristic ponytail, he realized what had been puzzling him about her look all evening.

o0o0o

Teyla had been the bearer of bad news this time. It was a very secluded community, despite having a Gate on their planet. From the little intel she could gather, the entire planet was inhabited only by a few communities, the most significant being located in the proximity of the Gate. According to her sources, the locals traveled off-world only around the time of their New Year Festival, when a few envoys were sent to gather various sacred plants that couldn’t be grown on the planet.

Apparently, the child of one of those envoys was dying because of a couple of scrapes that had mysteriously become infected, and it had spurred him on to talk about the apparent curse the community had been under - a whole slew of strange disease, infection, and unexplainable death. There was no way of telling if it was the dreaded virus without sending someone in, and Catherine had insisted that she be on the team no matter what. She had insisted so much, in fact, that Elizabeth had eventually agreed, despite John’s insistence that she was too exhausted to travel.

After a long talk, they had decided it was best to send in the minimum number of people so as not to disrupt the parochial ways of the community. John, Teyla, and Catherine were going to investigate the rumors, while the rest of the medical team remained in standby.

o0o0o

Unlike most Gates they had encountered in the Pegasus Galaxy, the one on M37-BS3 was inside of what looked like an enormous hall. It was hard to tell what kind of structure it actually was in the dim light of half a dozen burning torches, but it felt familiar despite the slightly religious overtones, reminding Catherine of Atlantis on a bad day.

She set down her medical kit and was about to say something when John signaled her to be quiet and held his P-90 ready. Teyla was also on her guard. They were waiting for something. Eventually, Catherine caught the sound of footsteps echoing through the walls and realized why everyone was so tense. Even with her little experience, she knew a welcome party wasn’t usually a good sign outside a Stargate. She reached for her own stunner - her training with Maj. Lorne was coming in handy. She didn’t get to unholster it before they found themselves surrounded by a group of locals with guns. Advanced guns, actually. Lantian guns, quite possibly.

One of the men, the leader, signaled to the others to wait. “Who are you?” he asked.

“We came here to help,” Teyla said, lowering her weapon. “We heard about the curse.”

“None of your business!” the man hissed. “The New Year will wash it away.” He armed his weapon.

Happy not to have been seen actually holding a weapon, Catherine decided she was best suited to earn their trust. “We believe you,” she assured him, holding her arms slightly raised. “We’ve been sent to make sure it will never come back.” She tried to sound as friendly and as full of good will as one could when held at gunpoint.

“You’re messengers of the Ancestors now, are you?” the man asked cynically.

“If that’s how you want to call us,” she agreed.

Even without looking at John, she could feel his eyes on her. “We come from their city.”

“You don’t say...” the man mocked, but he didn’t sound as self-assured as before. “Why should we believe you?”

“Because we’re telling the truth,” she answered unhesitatingly. With her big blue eyes and her innocent face, she looked incapable of lying. She hoped the men aiming their guns at them felt the same way.

Indeed, a couple of moments later, their leader signaled them to lower their weapons. In turn, John did the same thing, the stunned look on his face making it hard for her not to gloat. She had been on her high school’s debate team when she was eight. Did he think she was going to back down before a handful of space hillbillies?

o0o0o

Getting over his initial surprise, John eased back into his role as a leader and offered the leader of the locals his hand. “Col. John Sheppard,” he introduced himself, then pointed to his two female companions. “These are Dr. Catherine Spencer and Teyla Emmagan, leader of the Athosians.”

The men eyed the two women suspiciously. “I am Bob Rattler, and these fine men are part of the town guard,” the leader spoke up. He still hadn’t taken John’s hand and was instead looking intently at Catherine. “Tell me, Colonel, do the messengers of the Ancestors usually leave their women do the talking for them?”

The question unnerved him almost as much as the tone of the man’s voice.

“No, sir,” he said cautiously, taking his hand back, “they have enough work talking for themselves.”

He shot Catherine a look, but she either didn’t catch it or chose to ignore it.

“We can stand on etiquette all day, but that won’t help the sick,” she said impatiently, clearly more worried about her patients than Bob’s attitude. Once more, John wished she’d have more diplomacy when dealing with armed aliens.

He turned to Bob with a strained smile. “I hate to have to say this, but I believe she’s right. We can stand here all day and debate rather or not she can debate you, or you can take us to your town so we can help those affected by the... curse and you can go on with your New Year’s festivities.”

The man called his troops in an unknown language, probably a local dialect, and after what felt like interminable negotiations, they finally came to an agreement, looking none too happy about it. “We can let the two of you come,” Bob said, pointing to John and Catherine, “but she stays here, with us, until you’re finished.”

John instinctively took a step forward and found himself blocked by two rifle barrels across his chest.

“We can’t agree to that,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “She’s coming with us.”

“I’m afraid that’s not negotiable. She can stay here while you go into town, or you can all go back through the Travelling Ring to wherever it is you come from,” Bob said in a voice that allowed no comment.

“If you need a hostage, you can have one,” John countered. “ _Me_.”

“That is not possible, Colonel. In our village, women are not allowed to walk around without a male guardian.”

What a great time to find out that the asshole gene was alive and well across galaxies! Thousands of light-years away and their heads were still firmly stuck between their own but cheeks.

He’d rather call off the mission than negotiating with the likes of Bob. He opened his mouth to give them the order when Teyla spoke up.

“It’s alright, John,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure these fine gentlemen will be able to keep me safe until you return.”

Some of his anger must have shown on his face, because Catherine chimed in, looking about as happy as he felt. “We can’t let them die, John,” she pointed out reasonably. “And if it really is _the_ virus, it could easily spread to other populations. We could be looking at a galactic pandemic here.”

John hated this so much it physically hurt, but he was in no position to force Bob’s hand, and he saw no other way to get to the village. And while he _could_ call off the mission and return with a dozen Marines later, that meant putting more people at risk, and he hated it even more.

Sometimes being in command really sucked.

Swallowing against the nerves jumping in his throat, he nodded reluctantly. “Alright, but if anything happens to her...” He trailed off, the threat in his voice hanging heavily in the air between them.

o0o0o

They were heading for the village, Bob leading the way three steps in front of them.

John had been trying to catch Catherine’s glance ever since they left the temple without much success. She was walking straight on, either ignoring or missing him completely. Knowing her, it was probably the second, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying. He cleared his throat a few times, even tried to call after her discreetly, without any luck. Exasperated, he eventually grabbed her arm, making sure she actually noticed him.

“Do you have to antagonize every asshole who holds you at gunpoint?” he hissed in an angry whisper when she finally turned to face him.

Confusion spread all over her face. “What are you talking about?”

“First Kolya, then Bob… Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

A spark of anger flashed through her blue eyes. “I was only trying to hurry things up and skip the small talk.” She pulled her arm out of his grasp, and briskly resumed her trek. “Need I remind you, time is of the essence?”

“All you did was make me look like a fool in front of the locals and turn them against us,” he hissed again, his voice strained from trying to keep the volume in check. “Because of you, Teyla now has to wait by the Gate, surrounded by a bunch of armed men who don’t seem very friendly towards the ladies.”

John hadn’t even realized how angry he really was until he opened his mouth. And while he knew that those words were meant for himself, he ended up venting his frustration at her anyway. He bit the inside of his lip, a sickening feeling of guilt and failure creeping over him.

Catherine stopped in her tracks and turned toward him. “Sorry I didn’t let you handle it your way. We would have made so much progress if you started shooting at each other.”

The tension in her voice didn’t do anything to calm his temper, so he squeezed his fists tight and drew in a deep breath before answering. “All I want you to do is keep quiet once we get to the village. These men aren’t exactly forward thinkers here. Keep your charms for those who appreciate them,” he said, trying to ease the air between them.

“Such as yourself?”

John didn’t miss the challenge in her voice but wasn’t willing to take the bait.

“I’m sure Rodney appreciates the company of a spirited woman,” he said levelly. “Look, when we get to a planet that has already been through the women’s suffrage movement or runs on a matriarchal system, I’ll leave the negotiating to you. While we’re on the Planet of Hillbillies, you don’t give them reason to shoot.”

He hoped he was clear enough, but it didn’t seem to work with her temper. He was almost certain he’d said something to upset her, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. On second thought, it might have been the reference to Rodney that did it, but it had been the right thing to say. He was her boyfriend, wasn’t he?

“Oh, because you’re _such_ a good negotiator, and you are so much against their view on women,” she hissed, tripping over her own feet in the process of a dramatic turn.

Without actually looking at her, he caught her in mid-fall and set her back on her feet before letting go. “Before you go around insinuating that I’m sexist,” he hissed, wondering how long they could keep up a conversation like that, “remember that I have no problems following _Dr. Weir_ ’s orders... most of the time.”

“Who said anything about Dr. Weir? It’s _my_ orders you keep disrespecting!” she said, managing to raise her voice without actually screaming.

“First, you’re rarely in a position to give me orders,” he explained, trying to keep calm. “And second, your orders are usually unreasonable. Like not being allowed to exercise two weeks after _you_ gave me the all clear!”

“No, I didn’t!” she snapped. “I simply said you could leave the Infirmary because we were running out of beds, and you were a pain in the ass!”

Bob didn’t seem bothered by any of this and continued walking down the path to the village. However, John could see him, and there was an air of disapproval radiating from him in waves.

“Can we leave this for another time?” He was trying to keep his voice level, leaving no room for argument. “Should I remind you how many times you’ve disrespected _my_ orders?”

She didn’t answer, but a few feet later, she fell a few steps behind him, her expression dark and unreadable. Damn proud woman! She unnerved him on a level he didn’t want to explore. Compared to her, Rodney’s ego was bearable. He was even starting to miss Rodney. At least he listened to reason when people were pointing guns at them.


	2. Chapter 2

At first sight, the village looked just like the others they had visited in Pegasus, full of small houses and narrow alleys. 

But the similarities ended there.

The few women he saw were walking in silence, with their heads hanging down and a male “guardian” nearby. Black robes covered them from head to toe, reminding him of the most radical communities in the Middle East and of some of the particularly assholeish ones back home. It was enough to make his hair stand on end, but what truly gave him the creeps was the blank, hopeless stare in their eyes. 

John shot a quick glance at Catherine. With her head held high and her eyes straight ahead she stood out like a sore thumb. He had years to learn open defiance wasn’t worth the retaliation that followed, but he couldn’t bring himself to do something about it. Not only did he understand the anger behind her defiance, he pretty much felt it himself. And he wasn’t even a woman.

As if reading his thoughts, she did her best to examine her patients without using advanced technology that could draw more attention to them.

At least the symptoms were consistent among the sick. Persistent headaches, vomiting, fever, confusion, and occasionally convulsions. The locals weren’t forthcoming with information, but they confirmed that nobody had died choking on their own blood.

"These people need to get to a hospital, John," she said, after seeing the fourth patient.

She looked at him and it shocked him to see how exhausted she really was, her skin so pale that the circles beneath her eyes looked almost like bruises. No wonder she had been so snappy with him earlier. He felt like a jerk for lashing at her like that. The tension between them must have wrung even more energy out of her. "We at least need to call Atlantis for help so we could improvise an infirmary," she pressed on as they headed for the next patient's house.

He could see her point and wished he could help, but he was even more aware of the suspicious looks the men were giving them as they went from household to household, unable to do much for the sick than give them some pills and warn them to avoid contact with other villagers.

"Can you at least figure out what's going on?" he asked her softly.

She shook her head. “It looks like a form of meningitis, but I can’t be sure without a spinal tap. The good news is we’re not dealing with  _ that _ virus. It doesn’t mean this one’s not dangerous, though.”

“Are  _ we  _ infected?”

“I don’t think so, but I still recommend quarantine until I’m sure of it.”

John didn’t look forward to spending the next few days in isolation, but he settled for making a noncommittal sound and joined her in the last hut.

Their last patient was a child no older than three who, by all appearances, already stood on death's door. Lesions and purple-colored spots covered the boy’s skin and his breathing was shallow. A young woman, probably the kid's mother, was standing by his side, whipping and wringing her hands in despair.

She didn’t look their way as they entered the door, not even when Catherine knelt by the boy and checked his pulse.

Ever so slowly, the child stretched an arm out and brushed his little fingers against her cheek.

Catherine froze in place, staring helplessly at the boy. Then she turned to him and gestured towards her medical kit. 

"Bring it to me, John," she asked, her voice carrying an undertone of determination.

It wasn't a good idea, and John felt it from the start, but he couldn't refuse. He held his P-90 tighter and handed her the kit. Something told him that however this was going to play out, it was going to be against them.

A few men had followed them inside the hut and didn't look like they were eager for a miracle. Even the boy's mother was now eyeing them warily, waiting for Catherine to slip up.

Ignoring the uneasy air that surrounded them, or quite possibly unaware of it, Catherine took out her scanner. She barely had a chance to run it twice over the boy's body before his mother started screaming.

"Witch!" the woman burst out in a desperate cry.

"I'm just trying to-" she started explaining herself when the woman grabbed her hand, throwing the scanner against the wall.

John was about to interfere when he caught Catherine’s eyes and saw the silent warning in them. It was the same look Elizabeth gave him when she wanted to take a more diplomatic approach.

“Please, listen to me,” she said softly. Her voice held endless empathy, but also resolve. “I feel your pain. I’ve lost everyone I ever loved. But you won’t have to. I know how to treat this. I can save your son.”

The woman hesitated for a moment. Maybe if they were alone and had enough time, it would've worked. Maybe. As it was, the woman let out something that was either a bitter laugh or a sob and shook Catherine’s hands with even more force.

“Like I could let you use your… your witchcraft on him!” she screamed, gesturing toward the broken scanner. “Take your infernal devices out of my house! Get out! Out!” Her voice broke into a shriek, drawing more and more people to the house.

Out of the corner of his eye, John noticed Bob and a few of his guards making their way through the mob already huddled around the door. Trying to quell his mounting anger, he turned towards the entrance and steeled himself for the worst.

"What happened?" Bob asked in a gruff voice.

At once, the mad woman let go of Catherine’s hands and fell to her knees in abject submission. "She tried to kill my boy and steal his soul!" she accused, lowering her head.

The sick feeling that settled in his gut had nothing to do with physical pain, and everything to do with a disturbing sense of deja-vu.

“The device helps me see what’s wrong with the boy,” Catherine tried to explain, her voice as calm and composed as ever. “It’s not as good as a spinal tap, not by a long shot, but it’s better than nothing.”

"Shut up, woman!" the leader snapped. "We've had enough of your airs!"

Almost without thinking John stepped forward, placing himself between her and the gathering mob.

“I’d mind my language if I were you, Bob!” he warned. “My friend is a healer who only ever wanted to help your people. You treat her with respect or we’re done here.”

John felt her eyes on him, but couldn’t see her expression. He only prayed she’d keep silent and let him do the talking.

"She's been working her magic on my people!" Bob growled. "I know her kind. We've seen witches before and we know one when we see one!"

God, he hated fanatics!

"There are _ no _ witches!" he said, fighting to keep his temper in check. “No one's after your souls. We are here to help! We can't do that without-"

"She cursed my child!" the mother hollered, looking completely out of her mind as she pulled at her hair. “She said that if I don't let her work her spells, little Francis was going to die!"

The words took a few seconds to sink in, but then a flash of fury shot right through him. "This is  _ not  _ what happened!" he snapped, pointing a finger at Bob. 

"You mean Francis isn't going to die?" Bob questioned.

John threw a glance to the child on the bed. He didn't look strong enough to last the night, but whatever he told them now, was probably going to bite them in the ass later. "My friend here is a doctor," he said in a steady voice, "If she says she can cure him, she can."

"Our own boyla couldn't do anything for the boy, I doubt a mere woman could do better," Bob said, spitting out the word  _ woman _ .

"Of course she can't if you don't let her!" John insisted. "I can assure you she is our best doctor and-"

"You have no authority to talk to me as long as you are led by a  _ woman _ ," Bob cut. "But it is the New Year and I'm feeling generous. If the boy lives, we shall let you both leave as long as you never return to bother us.

"And if he dies?" John asked carefully.

"If he dies, he dies," Bob said amiably. "His death will prove he was cursed by her wretched hand! She will be burned as the witch she is!"

Catherine gasped behind him, but held her tongue. Gripping his P-90 tighter, John speared Bob with his stare. "Are you sure that's how you want things to go down?"

Bob's men were making their way to the front of the mob, holding their own guns ready. "You don't have much of a choice, I'm afraid. Hand over your weapon and your life will be spared!"

"If you want my weapon, why don’t you take it yourself and shove it up-"

Before he could tell Bob what exactly he could do with his weapon, Catherine put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft squeeze. 

"It's alright, John," she said quietly. "There's no point in antagonizing them. As long as you're free, you can help me. It won't help anyone if we're both held prisoner. Not even Teyla.”

As he turned to look at her, Catherine raised herself on her toes and brushed her lips lightly against his. The brief, totally unexpected contact distracted him for a moment, enough for her to walk past him and head over to Bob.

“Don’t!” he shouted, turning around in time to see her being surrounded by guards. “What the hell, Catherine?”

“Sorry, John. I wish there was another way,” she said apologetically.

His confusion turned to anger and determination at the sight of her beautiful, vulnerable eyes.

Damn it, he couldn’t stand watching her among those fanatics and not do something. Taking a few deep breaths to calm his nerves, he pointed his P-90 at Bob. "I could kill you right now," he said matter-of-factly, his voice strained with barely contained anger.

Bob nodded. “And you’d watch her die next,” he said.

One of the men grabbed her by the hair and stuck a gun to her head. Catherine gasped, but the quiet resolve in her eyes didn’t falter.

Cursing under his breath, John uncliped his P-90 and let it down, praying that Catherine had been right and there was still something he could do for her. Giving up hope would mean giving up on her, and he wasn’t ready to do that.

A few seconds later his hopes died a miserable death as the guards encroached on him and led him to his very own prison cell, away from the pesky witch they needed to get ready for burning. He waited for them to leave before he started pacing the cell like a caged animal, looking for a ridiculous way out to keep his demons at bay.

o0o0o

The witch's cell was somewhere underground, well guarded and heavily warded against magic. At least, that was what they had told Catherine when they locked her in the dank cellar she was now stuck in. The dark prevented her from seeing her surroundings, but she was going to take them at their word, not that she held any regard for superstitions and her lack of magic talent prevented her from disappearing despite the wards.

She was so tired, that when she had groped her way to the plank that served as a bed, she was convinced she was going to instantly fall asleep, regardless how desperate her situation was. Unfortunately, she had been wrong. Whenever she closed her eyes, all she could see was a dying child and a desperate mother. 

The sound of New Year's celebration didn't help either. Despite the epidemic going on, the locals were dead set in continuing their lives as usual. Maybe it was one of those desperate attempts to hold on to normality, but the thought did nothing to ease her mind. The boy was going to die without medical help and she was going to die because they kept her from helping.

Catherine tried to focus on something else, like the fact that she had kissed John. Again. Kissing him when their lives were in danger was turning into a habit. 

Eyes closed, she folded her arms against herself as if that could somehow contain the guilt and regret. 

Was he mad at her for playing him like that? 

Maybe. Probably.

But he also loved her, which meant he was mostly hurt.

If she’d die, John would blame himself for it, and that guilt, as misplaced as it was, would eat up at him for the rest of his life.

A sob broke from her and she pressed a hand to her mouth to contain it.

John was a hard man to read, but if she knew something about him, it was how willing he was to put the lives of others before his own. No matter how hopeless the situation, he would have done everything to protect her or he would have died trying. And she couldn’t let him take that risk. It was her decision that set in motion the chain of events leading to the witchcraft accusation. It was only fair for her to face the circumstances alone.

And there she was. Back to where it all started. Back to Francis. Was there something she could have done differently? Turning her back on him wasn’t really an option. If she did that, she could very well stop being a doctor, because it would have betrayed everything she stood for. Everything she was.

She couldn’t blame the mother for the whole mess either, though God knows she wanted to. Her madness came from a place of extreme grief, and grief was something Catherine had experienced first hand. 

But Bob… Bob was a whole different kind of animal. Catherine shuddered. There was something unsettling about him, some deep-rooted fanaticism that chilled her to the bone. He would’ve put his own children to death if he thought that was his god’s wish. Or of the Ancestors’. She had seen his kind before, or better said, witnessed the senseless destruction they left in their wake. There would be no mercy and no reasoning with him.

Catherine leaned against the damp wall, gathering her knees to her chest and hiding her face behind them. She hated to feel helpless before death and the fact that she could have saved Francis' life if it weren't for Bob was driving her crazy.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” she muttered miserably, not knowing exactly to whom she was apologizing. 

To Francis’ mother, for not getting through to her.

To Francis, for being unable to save his life.

To John, for being too scared to love him.

To Rodney, for loving another man.

To her dad, for giving up on him.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and every sob hurt, every tear felt hot and painful to shed. And yet, knees hugged tight to her chest, she cried and cried and cried, until she had no more tears left.

o0o0o

It had been a long, thankfully uneventful night for Teyla. Her guards weren't particularly accommodating, but they weren't very intrusive, either. They probably wished she was someplace else just as much as she did and kept a distant eye on her, only checking in if it was absolutely necessary. However, they had made sure she couldn't access the Gate and, despite her protests that it was vital to contact Atlantis, they had simply dismissed her.

Now, she was five hours overdue reporting back and Elizabeth was probably worried. Teyla herself was trying to remain calm hours after losing contact with John and Catherine and she had resolved to give them three more hours before giving her guards the slip and going after them.

At one point, she couldn't be sure of the time, the guard changed and the new ones looked a lot more shifty than the first, refusing to give her any news from the town or explain why they were keeping tighter watch on her. Instinct told her something was wrong, but she didn't want to compromise their situation by acting rashly. She was going to wait for the three hours to pass, then she was going to find a way to escape.

"Want some water?" one of them had asked her toward morning.

"Yes, please," she said sweetly, taking his water flask and drinking deeply. She measured him up discreetly. It was just one of them and she was certain she could easily dispose of him. The other four would have been a bit more trouble should she end up fighting them for her freedom. They were armed soldiers and they looked much more professional than the one in front of her. She decided it was safer to go after information at this point, so she handed him the flask back with a shy smile. "Thank you, but why do I feel so unwelcome here?" she asked, hoping this was a good conversation starter.

The man hesitated. "I don't know how things work where you come from, but here, decent women don't usually speak without being spoken to."

"You did ask if I wanted water," Teyla tested, noting that the man didn't look very bright, either.

After hesitating a little more, he nodded. "I did."

"So, I was being spoken to. Problem solved," she explained, hoping it would stick. Apparently, it did. He threw his companions a quick glance before turning back to her. He seemed rather fascinated and confused by such a talkative female. He didn't look older than twenty three. Had he been Athosian, she would have long taught him some respect. "Why would women around here be so quiet?" she asked diplomatically.

He shrugged. "You've always been instruments of destruction. It makes sense to keep you in check," he said. "You make children, raise them, take care of the home and bring down our leaders. As long as you stick to those first three activities, no one has anything against you."

Teyla was biting her lip, holding back on a sharp remark. "You think I'm here to bring down your leader?"

"I don't know why you're here, but from what I hear, you've already brought down  _ your _ leader. That 'doctor' woman," he said, spitting out the word 'doctor', "has been ordering and mocking your leader all night."

Teyla had to admit Catherine was usually a bit bossy and John seemed to bring out the worst in her, but at least she knew they were still OK. "I guess that stepped on a few toes," she said, shrugging.

"You guess? She's the perfect example of what happens when you let a woman have her way, just like Dalera did to Alden."

"Who?" she asked, puzzled.

"The founder of our town had refused Ascension in favour of his lover, a treacherous woman called Dalera. They say she was incredibly beautiful and had enslaved him with her charms, so much so that when the time came for him to ascend, he chose to stay behind so he could be with her. It didn't take long before she sought the comfort of another's arms, those of his brother Saul. Alden was so broken hearted that he soon killed himself. All that he left behind was a book on how women should be treated if the man wants peace in his home. We have lived by it ever since."

Teyla listened to him baffled. Great! A frustrated man just had to write his frustrations down and ten thousand years later a bunch of idiots were still following his lead. It was amazing how people could cling to anything that looked like a rule, outdated and out of place as it might have been.

"Have you ever thought that, maybe, not all women are like that?" she ventured.

Before he could answer, he was called by his companions, leaving her just as uneasy about the situation as she had been before chatting with him.

o0o0o

It came as no surprise that little Francis didn't make it through the night. John had learned about the boy from the guards that were dragging him very politely towards the town square where the New Year celebrations were going to be completed by a public execution - the best event to attend with the family!

He had spent all night looking for a way out, but nothing had worked. The locks had been far too solid for such a dingy little cell, the guards were incorruptible and too smart to walk into the cell when he pretended he was choking and had been completely unimpressed by his threats and shouts. All in all, the odds were against them and he could only hope Atlantis would figure out something was amiss when they didn't report back and were going to send in backup. Hopefully, that would happen while they were still alive.

On their way to the square, he tried to grab the guard's gun, earning himself a punch in the liver and the loss of their politeness. The rest of the way had been a long, tired out beating. Not that he didn't fight back, but four against one was a bit too much even for him. By the time they reached the square, he already looked worse than after any sparring match with Ronon - he could swear he had two broken ribs and there was no part of his body that didn't hurt. 

What was worse, he was starting to realize there might not be a way out for Catherine. The thought of losing her like that was almost as sickening as the knowledge that there was nothing he could to.

There was a large pyre with a stake in the center of the square, surrounded by more people than he could ever imagine would be willing to take part in such an exercise. It was nearly physically painful to see that the women were more engrossed in the whole spectacle than the men themselves, some even trying to give their children a better view of the execution.

He realized the main attraction of the morning was being dragged to the stage when the onslaught of vegetables had ceased hitting him and a low murmur made its way through the crowd. He couldn't see anything in the center yet, but they were still pushing him forward, so it was safe to presume he had front row seats for this. Lucky him.

He would have given anything not to reach that front row, but the odds were already against him and a few steps later he finally had a clear view of the pyre and of Catherine walking toward it, her head held high as if she was going to be awarded a title. She was putting on a brave face, but he knew just how terrified she must be. It reminded him of himself and he wondered how many times had he walked towards his own death with that very same attitude. Okay, there had probably been a bit more swearing on his part, but the general feeling was the same.

With strength he didn't know he had left, John jerked himself free from their hands and rushed towards the platform. He was almost there when the guards tackled him and threw him to the ground. 

The heel of a shoe slammed into his already abused ribs, eliciting a yelp of pain from him. Acting on instinct alone, he raised his hands to defend himself. He received another hit for his efforts. One of the guards caught his wrists and wrestled them behind his back.

Was Catherine screaming? He couldn’t see her and couldn’t be sure, with all the cacophony going on.

One of the guards grabbed him by the hair and yanked him up to his feet. Hissing in pain, John looked up at her and for a few seconds their eyes met. She was trying to tell him something - probably to let go - but he would have nothing of it.

“You are  _ not _ dead. Not yet,” he muttered, though for the life of him he couldn’t figure any way out.

Suddenly, the crowd went silent and he saw Bob stepping forward, accompanied by a religious-looking man, dressed all in black. Bob cleared his throat dramatically and began reciting the accusations. "We have gathered here today,” Bob said, his voice loud and clear in the eerie silence, “on this first day of the New Year, when all is forgiven, to cleanse this witch of her wickedness. She has been accused and found guilty-"

"This is nonsense!" John shouted as loud as his injured ribs would let him. "She hasn't even been on trial!"

Bob raised his hand to hush him and one of the guards slammed the butt of his gun into John’s groin. Excruciating pain flared through his body, taking his breath away. He groaned and bent over, but he stayed on his feet. He couldn’t give in to the pain. Not now. Not yet.

"Last night was her trial," Bob explained. "The death of the child is proof enough that she has been using magic on our people."

John knew he couldn’t take much more without passing out, but what choice did he have? "The child was dying anyway," he pressed on. Thankfully, this time his words weren’t followed by another hit.

"Yes, but none of the others have. She has used her magic on the others, one of them was even able to eat this morning," Bob replied triumphantly.

John looked at him in disbelief. He was a madman. "What is wrong with people recovering from illness? That was why we were here. Besides, you said the child was the one she used magic on!”

"She cursed the child and bewitched the others. She used her powers to drive the sickness out of the others and into this child. She even used her magic on me!"

Okay, that was new, John had to admit. Bob looked rather healthy and even Catherine, who had ignored the whole scene until then, turned to look at him.

“How did she do that?"

"I have been having... strange urges ever since you arrived. My wife didn't please me anymore..."

The crowd was overrun by a new murmur, the women displaying quick gestures that were probably intent to ward off demons. You'd think they'd never heard of a man lusting after a pretty face before.

"You know..." John hesitated, "That's not as unheard of as you might think."

The silence that followed was broken by Catherine, who had probably been long driven past her bullshit-acceptance limit and had never been good at holding her tongue. "You're going to kill me because you had a  _ wet dream _ ?!"

There was another second's silence before the crowd erupted into a cacophony of screams and shouts and protests that not even Bob could calm down. A couple of old women fainted and some of the guards looked particularly guilty. The children were mostly confused, except for the ones that weren't and were finding the situation extremely amusing. He could make out words like "Blasphemy!", "Whore!", "Witch!" being shouted and Bob's face was turning a distinct shade of red. If his hands weren't bound, John would have slapped his forehead in exasperation.

It wasn’t until he caught her eye again that he knew what absolute helplessness felt like. A gut-wrenching emptiness twisted inside him as he stared into her terrified eyes, leaving him breathless.

Eventually, the clamor died down and Bob was able to resume his sentencing. "As you can see, the accusations are grave and the death of the child has, as I've already said, proven them true. Thus, the high priest has decided that this wild, reckless and wicked woman must die before she causes the demise of our community through her magic."

"I thought all was forgiven on the first day of the New Year," John insisted, desperate to at least buy her more time.

"Everything is forgiven, but not by us. The Ancestors can forgive and they will do so once she is among them in the afterlife," Bob assured him, waving for two boys to begin tying Catherine to the stake.

"The Ancestors aren't interested in anything except themselves and they wouldn't interfere in any way," Catherine shouted, holding her hands out for the boys to tie her up.

Horror-fueled adrenaline raced through John’s veins as he threw himself against the unyielding grip of the guards, unable to stay calm and watch her dying. 

"Bob, don’t do this!” he shouted. “I will kill you for this. Do you hear me? You hurt her and I  _ will _ kill you and nuke this town to the ground! Bob!”

It wasn't the first time he felt such rage. It was the kind of overwhelming, breathtaking feeling he had whenever his friends were in danger and he was powerless to help. It wasn’t new, yet somehow it felt different. Worse. He couldn't quite pin it down, but there was more than just helplessness behind his rage. And he wasn't joking. Bob was going to die if he ever got out of there and he  _ felt  _ capable of nuking the entire place. It scared him almost as badly as the idea of seeing Catherine die in flames. It reminded him of the countless Genii soldiers he’d killed by activating the Gate shield in Atlantis. The sound of their bodies hitting the shield before being turned into nothingness was one of the horrors that populated his nightmares ever since.

Before his thoughts could grow any darker, he was distracted by a quiet discussion going on behind him.

"I feel sorry for her, she's kind of cute," said a young man, as if afraid someone might overhear.

"Yeah, maybe they'd have gone easier on her if she were married," added his companion. "You could claim her as your wife, if you like her so much!" he added sarcastically. "If you're sure you could hold her in check afterwards, that is."

John wasn't sure what they meant by claiming her as their wife, but there was an underlying message there. They might leave Catherine go if she were married. At least, they wouldn't go ahead with the burning. 

Before he could give much thought to the plan, seeing her tied up to the stake and the satisfied smirk on Bob's face, he pushed passed his guards again and shouted with all his might, "So you're just going to burn  _ my wife _ ?!"

A stunned silence followed in which he could feel Catherine's eyes burning into him.

Bob's smirk faltered, but it soon broke into a loud laugh. "This woman is your wife?"

John was wondering why the guards weren't trying to stop him anymore. Maybe he was finally doing something well. 

"Yes, she is."

"I don't buy it. You would have said so until now," Bob said.

"I like to keep my private life to myself," John said with a smile. Catherine was probably never going to let him live this down, but at least she'd be alive to do it.

"Is he speaking the truth?" Bob asked her out of the blue, before he could give her any hint of what his plan was. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what his plan was either.

She hesitated just a fraction of a second, looking for him in the now agitated crowd.

_ Say yes. Say yes, damn you _ .

Catherine’s eyes reached into his and suddenly there was no distance between them. No stake, no Bob… no Rodney. Relief flooded through him.

"Yes,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady. “He is.”

_ That’s it. That’s my girl _ .

At once, Bob gestured towards the guards and they released him. Finally. Rubbing his wrists, he climbed onto the platform and went straight to Catherine. His  _ wife. _

"What is the meaning of this?" asked the priest, stepping in between them.

"She's married, she's his responsibility," Bob said. "This is the law. As the husband, he is entitled to punish her as he sees fit."

The priest didn't move away. He took off his hood, exposing a skull-like face, with cold, grey eyes that sent shivers down John's spine. "The law applies to true believers," the priest said in a gravelly voice, "capable of controlling their wife, not foolish outsiders that let their women control them."

"If you'll let us leave, we'll be out of your hair in no time," John offered, still hoping to untie Catherine and be off without any more conflict.

"And leave her soul to be lost?"

"I'll take that risk," John smiled. "Wouldn't you, honey?" he asked Catherine. Fortunately, she was far too shocked by the  _ honey  _ to do more than nod.

"I wouldn't," the priest added. "The fact that you would, shows that you're just as lost as she is. And your soul needs salvation as well."

"What?" John was never able to follow the train of thought of fanatics and this wasn't an exception.

"Tie him to the stake as well," Bob ordered his guards. "We can at least be generous and let them die together."

"No!" Catherine shouted, struggling for the first time that day. "He isn't guilty of anything! He isn't even my husband! He just lied to save me! Leave him alone!"

It was too late for John to try and hush her and the look on the priest's face told him they were playing right into his hands.

"Oh, but he is," the priest assured her. "Isn't this proof enough? You won't die alone and your marriage will be forged in fire. A match made by the Gods."

John couldn't figure out what the old fool was talking about, but Catherine was cursing and swearing and even the priest looked taken aback by it. He was making all sorts of gestures to ward him against her magic.

This time he didn’t fight them at all. He was too weak and too beaten to make a difference, and he wanted to stay conscious for her. Offer her whatever comfort he could, despite his own terror.

The rope that bound them together dug deep into his skin. They were now tied back to back, with the stake between them.

"Why the hell did you do this?" she hissed, finally giving up on the cursing.

"It looked like a good idea and we had nothing to lose," he answered. "Okay, maybe I was wrong on the second part."

"How about the first?" she hissed again, her throat hoarse from the earlier shouting.

"It might have worked.” He tried to shrug. "Bob was about to let us go, at least." 

Strangely enough, he didn't mind being tied up too much. Seeing the woman he loved burned in front of his eyes would have consumed him just as completely. Only not as fast.

On the priest's cue, someone stepped forward with a lit torch and threw it under the pyre.

He felt her tense behind him, so he wriggled his wrists until he was able to catch her hands in his.

She held on tight, as if he were her lifeline. "I'm not afraid of dying, you know," she said, "I'm only afraid of the pain.”

He grabbed her hands tighter, unable to say anything else.

The flames were gaining ground around them. Long, trembling fingers curled frantically around his own. 

“Why, John?”

She didn’t finish the question and didn’t need to. He knew the question, and she probably knew the answer. Yet, she wanted to hear it from him. And he needed to say it.

Turning his head as much as he could, desperately wanting to see her face and knowing he couldn’t, he answered truthfully, “Because I-”

A familiar tingling sensation took over his body, and the scene around him changed to the interior of a spaceship. Still bewildered, he held on to Catherine's hands and she gripped on as tight as she could.

"Nice to see the lovebirds are having fun," Colonel Caldwell commented, his voice tinged with relief as well as humor. “Pulling your backside out of fire is starting to get literal, Sheppard.”

"Great timing, as always, sir," John replied with a cough.

"You should thank Teyla. She returned to the city and told Dr. Weir what happened. We were already on our way to Earth and this planet was right in our path. Pretty close to Atlantis, too,” Caldwell explained. “You were damn lucky. Ma’am,” he greeted Catherine before turning his attention to Hermiod.

She was so quiet he wondered if she was still conscious, but the tight grip she still held on him told him she was.

"Can someone untie us, please? And don't take embarrassing pictures," he said.

One of the engineers, Dr. Novak if his memory was correct, stepped forward and quickly undid their bindings.

"It's so nice to see you're safe! When Dr. Weir contacted us, we were afraid we wouldn't make it in time."

"Thanks," he whispered, rubbing his sore wrists.

Still looking stunned and shell-shocked, Catherine turned to John and silently wrapped her arms around him in a fierce embrace. His ribs screamed in protest, but he barely registered them. Eyes closed, he pressed his face into her hair and returned the embrace.


End file.
